My ancestor's wildest dream is me doing my dishes, dancing to Beyonce
How I spent my Juneteenth.
I had a mix of feelings when Juneteenth became an officially recognized holiday. I didn’t feel like ‘celebrating’ in 2020. My heart was heavy. Something about celebrating the end of slavery, when my people never should’ve been enslaved in the first place, felt weird.
I also didn’t really know how I should celebrate. America has painted a pretty monolithic picture of Black people, and honestly, continued doing that during the Black Lives Matter chapter of quarantine. I think that as Black people, we can even get caught in the trap of talking about ourselves as a monolith.
One of my favorite quotes is —
If there are 40 million Black Americans, then there are 40 million ways to be Black" - Henry Louis Gates Jr.
I have certainly been conditioned to think that the only way to respectfully celebrate “Black holidays” is to reflect on my history and how far we’ve come. My family used to have a tradition of seeing a culturally important movie on MLK Day.
I watched Ava DuVernay’s series, When They See Us, about the wrongful arrest and imprisonment of five Black and Latina teenagers, in one sitting. I couldn’t bring myself to go inside Central Park for a week, which is a long time considering how closeby I live.
2024 was the first time that I made a conscious choice to try having a fun day on Juneteenth. I woke up and played Beyonce, and drank coffee. I might have taken myself to a bookstore. I ended the day with a hilarious night of improv by all Black comedy groups. I got a fish fillet and a vanilla milkshake from McDonald’s for the first time in years.
I even manifested that the following year, I wanted to celebrate on a boat surrounded by Black women.
Yesterday, I woke up around 11 am from a really good dream, which included Oprah telling me what an amazing job I was doing.
I washed my hair, did my dishes while my conditioner was in, and once again, played Beyonce.
I put up my Venmo on my Instagram stories and reposted a carousel I’d made earlier in the week
I treated myself to a oat milk chai latte and tried a new rosemary honey scone, which made my life.
I used the insane off-and-on thunderstorms as an excuse not to go to a free outdoor concert at Lincoln Center. I cozied up on the couch with frozen Indian food from Trader Joe’s. I did some more writing. I listened to podcasts. I made pumpkin bread. I watched the first episode of a documentary about Black Twitter, based on Jason Parham’s WIRED article, A People’s History of Black Twitter. I went to bed around midnight.
I made a TikTok earlier in the day, about being my ancestors’ wildest dreams.
I genuinely mean every word. I truly believe my ancestors want everything good in the world for me. From endless book sales to oat milk chai lattes to powerful A/C. My entire life and existence = their wildest dream, and I do not have to be ‘magical’ or excellent or extraordinary to earn their praise. They are already SO proud of me.
Also, just a reminder to keep up the Juneteenth energy all year round and continue supporting Black people on Substack and off.
Back in 2021, I asked this white guy I super briefly dated what actions he was taking to be antiracist as a high school teacher (which was so big for me and I’m still so proud of myself!) He said he was ‘becoming aware’ of all the racism in the world. Later on, he texted me that he really took my words to heart and picked up a fiction book to read by a Black female author.
When I told him I thought it was best if we stopped seeing each other, he was polite at first, but sent me a VERY long text which included the line “The way you left us made me feel like l've been sitting by ignoring injustices.” And like, yes indeed. That’s the point, my guy.
If you’re reading these words, you’re already supporting my work, and I can’t thank you enough for that. If you’re looking to take an extra step —
